Am I Only Born To Die
by Relatively Unknown
Summary: Hawkeye is trapped in a collapsed aid building with Frank. Surprisingly, they begin to talk, and Hawk finds out there's more to Frank that meets the eye. [Rating for Language and Subject Matter] [No Slash]


**A/N**: I can't help it; I like Frank. He's an annoying moron, but I love him for it. It just wasn't the same with Charles, though I liked him, too.

Anyhow, I always thought there was more to Frank that what he showed. That thought led to this.

Yes, I made up some details about Frank, since a lot isn't known about his home-life, plus he's a bit OOC here. I hope you don't mind too much, but if you do, feel free to tell me so. In other words, flame at will.

**DISCLAIMER**: I own not _MASH_, but instead this idea. All songs mentioned are of the public domain and are not subjected to copyright laws, ergo I cannot be held in accusation for using property I do not own. Long story short, they're free to use by anyone and everyone. Understood? Good.

* * *

If there ever was a time that Hawkeye was cursing his luck so much that a veteran marine would blush like a school girl, this was it. It was bad enough he had to go to the Aid Station, and with Frank of people, but did he really need to have the makeshift building collapse on top of him?

They had already been there for an hour, enduring the shelling like only those who were used to it could, and patching up as many boys as the could. For his part, Frank kept his mouth shut, and Hawkeye was thankful. In fact, he was almost delighted by that point, because no one had died, the shelling had lessened, and no more boys had come in injured.

So, of course, the next thing he knew he was coughing and underneath the collapsed roof and walls.

_Though,_ he thought_, if it wasn't for the way it collapsed, none of us would probably be alive now._ It was true, too; the shell or whatever it had been had caused the roof to fall at an angle first, then the walls after it. It gave the impression of a closed off lean-to. That was the good thing about it all; the bad thing was that there was now no way to get any of the wounded out, no way to get out himself, and he was stuck here... with Frank Burns.

_Maybe I should go back to cursing my luck,_ he thought miserably

Frank had remained silent after he let loose a string of curses that proved he was, indeed, a military man. Hawkeye was about to make a comment about it, but Frank had dropped himself unceremoniously to the floor. He crossed his arms on his knees and buried his face in them. He hadn't moved since.

Hawkeye wasn't sure how much time had passed since the building had collapsed, but the shelling had restarted again. It was a sound that didn't cheer him in the slightest. More shelling meant more wounded, plus it meant that the chances of someone coming up to get them out were in the very unlikely category.

A few shafts of light made it through the rubble, but they were growing dim quickly as night came. Hawkeye sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, hungry, and covered in blood; though this wasn't unusual, somehow, it felt worse this time. Much worse.

"It's too quiet," he murmured. _Only those who had been in a war could be pelted with shells, hear explosions, and think it was too quiet_, he thought.

"I'm surprised you haven't started singing yet, Pierce," Frank replied without looking up.

"Was that a request, Frank?" he chided. Frank shrugged in response, and all humor left Hawkeye. _Well, that's odd,_ he thought. _He didn't rise up to it. In fact, he's been acting a little too quiet and passive for the past week._

"I'd like to--" a voice started, then was interrupted by some heavy coughing. The soldier managed a deep breath finally, and tried again. "A request. I'd like to make a request."

"Well, this is your DJ Hawkeye at your local Battalion Aid Station, may I ask who's calling?"

"Reed," the soldier said with a grin. "Sergeant Mike Reed, sir."

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant Mike Reed Sir, though I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Me, too, doc."

"Don't we all?" Frank muttered, but still didn't lift his head. Hawkeye ignored him.

"So, what is your request, Sergeant Mike Reed Sir?"

"Do you know _Amazing Grace_?"

"Ah, one of the few hymns that I do," Hawkeye said. He took a deep breath and began.

_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound  
That saved a wretch like me!  
I once was lost, but now am found;  
Was blind, but now I see..._

"How's that?"

"Good, it was good," Mike said with a faraway look. He smiled and looked back at Hawkeye. "Do you know the rest?"

"The rest? No, I could never pay attention long enough to learn it," he said. Truth was that after his mom died, his dad didn't take him church. Couldn't handle it, he had told the ten-year-old Hawkeye.

"Me, neither. I liked it, but I was worried more about baseball and Sunday dinner."

"I know it," Frank said, finally lifting his head up. He had a neutral expression on his face and Hawkeye couldn't read it. It made his worry meter go up another notch.

"Yeah?" Mike said, turning his gaze as well as he could to Frank, who cleared his throat and began.

'_Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,  
And grace my fears relieved;  
How precious did that grace appear  
The hour I first believed..._

He continued on, his voice unusually clear and calm. Mike had closed his eyes and listened reverently, a smile still on his face. Hawkeye was getting more suspicious by the moment. This just wasn't Frank. Granted, he had always known that the Ferret was a Bible-thumper, but this wasn't one of his speeches about morality or whatever else he normally babbled on about. This was different.

Plus, as he had thought earlier, Frank had been too quiet. The entire week, including today, he had heard him say a total of five complete sentences, with a few "yessirs" thrown in. He hadn't snapped at any corporals, hadn't growled B.J. and himself for their O.R. antics, and hadn't even said a word when they replaced his toothpaste with rubber cement.

_B.J. said he probably had another fight with Margaret, but I'm not so sure,_ he thought_, as Frank sang the last few lines._

_When we've been there ten thousand years,  
Bright shining as the sun,  
We've no less days to sing God's praise  
Than when we'd first begun..._

"Thanks," Mike whispered. Hawkeye watched as Frank stood and walked over to the boy, then kneel beside him.

"No problem, kid," he said. The kid closed his eyes, a faint smile still on his face. To most it would look like he had drifted off to sleep; but Hawkeye knew better. He watched Frank pull Mike's blanket up over his face.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"Lungs were punctured and filling up with fluid, hence the coughing," Frank said as he went back to his place in the corner. "Even if he had been back at the 4077th, he didn't have a chance."

"They all have a chance, Frank. Don't get shot, shelled, or bombed, and there's a chance they'll live."

"So what, Pierce? Die here today or die at home tomorrow, what's the difference?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'd rather die of old age back home in Maine than be shot to death here in South Korea. Somehow, it seems better there, though I'd rather not die at all," Hawkeye told him. He wasn't really in the mood to be witty or humorous, and neither did Frank, though it was doubtful he was either in the first place.

"For you, maybe," Frank muttered.

"What was that?" Hawkeye said, not sure he had heard correctly.

"Drop it, Pierce," Frank said, his voice edgy.

"I think I liked it better when you were quiet," he snapped back, although not with as much force behind it as he wanted.

Frank said nothing in return, only buried his face in his arms again. _Okay, this is starting to get downright weird,_ Hawkeye thought. _First he's silent all week, then he actually shows compassion to a kid, and finally he listens to me. Something just isn't right here._

"Alright, Frank, you have my attention. What's wrong?" There was no answer. Hawkeye sighed and said, "Look, Frank, I'm actually trying to talk to you. Granted, it's probably because I'll be trapped in here with you for sometime yet, but still I'm trying. You've been acting weird all week-- something's wrong. So what is it?" Still silence. "Frank?"

He heard something, and it took him a minute to realize that Frank was singing again, this time quietly to himself. He listened close and managed to catch a few lines.

_And am I only born to die?  
And must I suddenly comply  
With nature's stern decree?  
What after death for me remains?  
Celestial joys, or hellish pains,  
To all eternity?_

"What is that?" he asked. The singing stopped and there was a pause.

"_Am I Only Born to Die_ by Charles Wesley," Frank said, lifting his head enough to look at Hawkeye. "Why do you care?"

"I don't know. I never heard it before," Hawkeye replied, surprised by Frank's question.

"No, that's not what I mean. Why do you _care_?"

"About...?"

"You asked me what's wrong. You never do that. No one does. So, tell me, what do you really want, Pierce?"

"Oh, that," Hawkeye said. "Like I said, Frank, whether we like it or not we're going to be stuck here for awhile. I was making conversation. You have been acting strange-- even for you-- all week, and yes, I have noticed. We all have."

"Ah, I see," Frank replied, then lowered his head again. "So you're asking me because you're bored and stuck here with me. Let's face it, Pierce-- you never would otherwise, so don't bother. Despite what you, Hunnicut, and the rest of the camp may think, I'm not here for you're amusement."

Hawkeye was genuinely taken aback. It wasn't Frank's words-- he had said similarly things before-- but it was the tone he used. He hadn't growled them as he normally did, but rather, he sounded bitter. Very, very bitter. Frank was many things, but 'bitter' wasn't a word typically said of him.

"Frank," he said, and waited until he finally looked up at him again. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Why do you care?"

"As much as we may mutually hate each other, you are my tent-mate and a fellow doctor. Something's really bothering you and most things don't upset you like this. Not only have you been silent all week, but you actually showed _compassion _to that poor kid. You _cared_. That's why." Frank leaned back against the one still-standing wall. He stared at the ceiling. "Is it Margaret?" Hawkeye prompted.

"No," Frank said. He glanced over to Hawkeye. "You really want to know?"

_Do I? Why am I even asking? It's Frank, hard to tell what he's worried about. Eisenhower take a fall? The Republican Party lose a member? Peace talks are actually getting somewhere?_ he thought. Instead, though, he nodded his head. "Yeah, I do."

"My brother's dead."

"The one who called you Ferret Face?"

"No, my other brother. That was John."

"Oh. I didn't know you had two," Hawkeye said, unsure of what else to say. He hadn't thought it would be something like this.

"There used to be six of us; three boys, three girls. Then Mary died, and a year later, Anne. Two sisters gone, and now a brother."

"What was his name?"

"Mike," Frank whispered. "Just like him," he said, nodding to where the kid lay covered with a blanket. "Looked a bit like him, too. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Mike was a soldier, too, just like John and I."

"What happened?"

"Doesn't matter. He's dead," Frank said harshly.

"You know, if that was true, you wouldn't be taking it like this," Hawkeye pointed out. He paused a moment, thinking. "Have you spoken with Father Mulcahy?"

"No, and I'm not planning to."

"Frank, he's a priest. It's not like he's going to go around and give details. He might even be able to help."

"You can't help the dead, Pierce. And face it-- we're all dead, it's just a matter of degree."

"For once, Frank, I can't argue you with you on that. Who did you steal it from?" he said before he could stop himself. Old habits die hard.

"Go to hell!" Frank growled, and immediately returned to his position of his head buried in his arms.

"It's habit, Frank, okay?" he said. No response. "You know what? Fine, forget I asked. Go and sulk like a coward. At least you're quiet!"

The quiet remained. It echoed around Hawkeye, broken only by the shelling in the distance and the occasional weak cough from one of the wounded. _Thank God they were in the back with us, or else they would have been in even more pieces_, he thought.

Some time passed. The light was now a barely noticeable dim, and Hawkeye could just make out his hand in front of his face. Frank hadn't said a word or moved an inch the entire time, and Hawkeye was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep. If anyone could sleep through shelling, it would be Frank.

He rested his head against the wall. Maybe he could take a nap, too. He doubted it, but he was so exhausted that even the slightest bit of rest would help. He closed his eyes and was just about to drift off when, for the second time that day, he found himself knocked to the ground.

A shell had landed dangerously close to them, causing another part of the one wall to fall down. He heard a yelp of pain, but couldn't tell if it was Frank or one of the wounded. He crawled over in the direction, all light now gone, and felt around.

"Frank?"

"Ah, shit," he heard the Ferret swear.

"Frank, you okay?"

"Damnit! Yeah, Pierce, I'm just great," came the reply.

"I'm going to check the wounded," Hawkeye said, ignoring the caustic words. He felt around and came across the blanketed Mike. He paused over him a moment, sadness flowing through him, then moved on.

There had been only four left in the building-- if you could call it that-- when it had collapsed. Two were severely injured and unconscious, but patched and alive. He made it to them and checked their pulses. One was bit weak, but both were steady. He patted them over to make sure nothing had pierced anything, then moved onto the third one. He had only a concussion and few abrasions here and there, but was unconscious as well. He did the same with him, found his pulse steady and no new wounds, then felt his way back towards Frank.

"How are they?" Frank asked.

"Fine for now. We get another hit like that, though…" he trailed off. "You sure you're okay?"

"I said I was fine, Pierce. You can joke all you want about my abilities in the OR, but I think I know when _I'm_ okay!"

"Alright, alright! Sheesh, Frank, and you wonder no one bothers asking how you are or what's wrong!"

"Oh, I don't wonder, Pierce, I know."

"Really? Enlighten me."

"Go to hell, Pierce."

"I'm already there, Frank, I'm in Korea! In fact, I'm convinced that if I owned this and hell, I'd rent Korea out and live in hell," Hawkeye snapped back. "Nobody wants to be here, Frank, not even you."

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Pierce."

"Are you saying you _want_ to be here? You're crazier than Klinger claims to be!"

"Of course I don't want to be here! It's just a whole hell of lot better than the alternative."

"Home in a real bed, eating real food, and being with your family? This is better than _that_?"

"Drop it, Pierce. Just drop it."

"No, I won't, Frank. First you tell me that your brother's death doesn't matter and now--"

"I never said that!" Frank all but yelled. "His death matters, it matters to _me_. If no one else in this goddamn world cares, _I _do. It's how he died that doesn't matter. Anyway you look at, he's dead. Mike is _dead,_ and suddenly I have no family left. You think I'm crazy for saying I like this godforsaken place better than home? I have no home, Pierce! A home is where you have a family that cares about you, a place where you have friends over to watch the game with, and where you can find sanctuary in.

"You know what I have, Pierce? I have a wife who doesn't give a shit whether I live or die, three daughters that look at me like I'm some kind of stranger, a mother who long ago decided I wasn't worth her precious time, a father who does nothing but get flat-out drunk and occasionally knocks someone around when he's bored, a sister who lives in trailer with an asshole husband that likes to use her as a personal punching bag, and a brother who wants nothing to do with me, except to maybe put a bullet in my head.

"You have a father, a sister, friends, and a town that cares about you. I don't have shit," he said. "So, yeah, this hellhole looks like a fucking paradise to me."

Hawkeye was… Well, he didn't know. Frank's embittered words echoed in his mind. He wasn't stunned or shocked or even dumbfounded… He was… numb. He had never heard Frank say anything like that before, nor with that kind of intense bitterness. There had been times when he had felt sorry for him, even pitied him, but now... He didn't know what to feel.

"You really want to know how Mike died?" Frank asked, his voice quiet again, almost reserved. "He blew his brains out. He was at the frontline and nearly his whole unit was wiped out. He was at the 8063rd with only minor wounds. He found out by accident; some damn corporal told him without thinking. That night he sneaked out and took a guard's pistol. He blew his head off before the guard could stop him."

"Frank, I'm--" Hawkeye stopped. How could he tell the guy he was sorry? It seemed so _cold_. Unsympathetic.

"And you know what the ironic thing is?" he said. He gave a short laugh; it sounded more like a rough sigh. "I was the one that was supposed to die over here. Mike was smart. He knew how to be a good soldier, but a smart one as well. He has a wife that loves him, and a little boy who looks up to him. He loved his work. He was good guy, like you or Hunnicut. Now he's dead, and I'm left."

"I don't know what to tell you," Hawkeye replied honestly. "I really don't know."

"I don't know either, Hawkeye. I don't think any of us do."

"You know... I've thought about it," Hawkeye admitted.

"What stops you?"

"Thoughts of home," he said, regretting his honesty. "Thoughts that maybe, somehow, after this war is over I'll be able to go back to a normal life."

"You'll laugh at mine," Frank murmured. Hawkeye didn't need to ask if he had thought about it. They all had at one time or another.

"What?"

"Like I said, you'll laugh."

"Frank, if it stops you, then it's nothing worth laughing at." A moment passed, and Hawkeye wondered if he was going to speak up at all.

"It's the war," he said finally.

"The war?"

"The thought that someday it'll be over. Maybe tomorrow, or in a week, a month, a year. It'll be over, and if I can just make it until then, maybe I'll find something worth living for. I gave up on Louise ever loving me, but maybe Laura, Madeline, and Sarah-- my daughters-- will. Maybe I'll come to love being a doctor, find something that makes it worthwhile. Maybe, maybe, maybe..."

"A reason to go on," Hawkeye said.

"Yeah," Frank said, "though I doubt I will."

"Don't give up on hope, Frank. It's the only that ever keeps any of us going."

Another silence lapsed between them. This one seemed louder, mostly because the shelling had finally stopped. _Help will be here soon_, he thought. Frank seemed to think the same thing, because he spoke up again.

"Pierce?"

"I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks..."

"Don't worry about it," Hawkeye said.

"Pierce?"

"What is it, Frank?"

"You'll hate me tomorrow, won't you?"

"Truth?"

"Truth."

"Probably," he answered.

"I thought so. It's okay, though. Better than nothing," he said.

"Hey, Frank? That song you was singing earlier. How did it go?" Hawkeye asked, both genuinely interested and wanting to change the subject.

"_Am I Only Born to Die_?"

"Yeah, that one," he said. Frank began to sing softly in the dark.

_And am I only born to die?  
And must I suddenly comply  
With nature's stern decree?  
What after death for me remains?  
Celestial joys, or hellish pains,  
To all eternity?_

_Good question,_ Hawkeye thought_. Good question._

_Ah, write the pardon on my heart,  
And whensoe'er I hence depart,  
Let me depart in peace..._


End file.
